


A Host Without His Hostess.

by ComingandGoingByBubble



Category: A Gentleman's Guide to Love and Murder - Lutvak/Freedman
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-15 03:18:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13604427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComingandGoingByBubble/pseuds/ComingandGoingByBubble
Summary: Phoebe becomes ill the night of a gala that she and Monty are hosting at High-hurst, so Monty has to go through it alone, all while worrying about Phoebe.





	A Host Without His Hostess.

“Please make my excuses to everyone,” Phoebe said in between coughs from her place on the bed, “I am just feeling so terribly ill.”

Monty frowned. “Do you want me to call in a doctor to look after you?”

  “No, no Violet will do just fine. I’m mostly just going to rest anyways,” Phoebe dismissed the idea. She gave him a small smile before another coughing fit seized her tiny body.

Monty fidgeted in his dinner jacket, “I could cancel the whole thing, you know? Tell everyone to go home.”

  “No, no they’re already all here. You can’t do that to them.”

  “I’m sure they’d understand,” Monty told her.

She sighed, “No. We’ve been planning this for months, you can’t cancel because of me being ill.”

Monty deepened his frown. “You know I’ll be worried about you the entire time?”

  “I know. But there is nothing to worry over. You just go out there, and be your charming, lovely self.” She smiled and Monty couldn’t help but smile back even though he was worried about her.

A fever, and a cough! His stomach twisted in nervousness. But he knew Phoebe wouldn’t budge, he’d have to go through with tonight’s dinner.

  “I’ll tell everyone you send your sincerest apologies,” he said as he came over to her and kissed her forehead.

  “Please do.”

He took one last look at her before he left to go greet his guests.

 

The dinner seemed to go on for an eternity. Monty forced a smile on his face at every pathetic joke told by one of the lords, he feigned interest in the local gossip that was always circling around by the ladies. He played the role of the host, all the while, nervously glancing at the hallway to the staircase, wanting nothing more than to be with his darling Phoebe at this moment, when she was ill.

During dinner, Monty would drown out the dismal chatter of his guests, and try and listen for Phoebe’s cough, or Violet’s footsteps to and from her room, in any event that Phoebe was getting worse. He had spoken to all of the servants to alert him immediately if the Countess’ fever grew any worse. None had said anything to him, but he knew that Phoebe probably also spoke to them and told them to not bother the Earl with news of her illness while he was hosting a dinner.

By the time dessert rolled around, Monty’s hands started to fidget. He glanced at the clock. It chimed ten o’clock. He resisted the urge to bolt up the stairs and see if Phoebe was asleep.

  “Did your wife come up with all of the meals for tonight, Lord Navarro?” one lord asked him.

  “Yes, she did. I gather she’s quite remiss that she’s not here to eat any of it. She was quite happy with her selection,” Monty said with a smile.

  “It was just divine,” added in Lady Calais. “Countess Navarro has exceptional taste!”

  “That she does, my lady,” Monty agreed.

  “What exactly is she ill with? I do hope it’s not anything serious?” asked another woman, if Monty recalled correctly, she was Countess Venetain.

  “Just a fever and a cough.” Monty tried to keep his face calm. He knew Phoebe would be alright, but he still couldn’t help but be worried.

  “Oh, the poor dear, do send her our best!”

The lords and ladies chimed in agreement. Monty nodded.

He then raised his glass in a toast.

  “To Countess Navarro, and may good health grace her soon!”

They all murmured the same in response. Monty drank his wine with the rest of them, and hoped that this blasted dinner would be over soon.

When the last of the guests did finally leave, it was nearing eleven. Not even bothering to discard his dinner jacket, Monty ran up the stairs to Phoebe’s room, anxious to see her.

She was asleep, as he much predicted. Her head was tilted to one side on the pillow, her breathing light, her hair in a plait. She shivered slightly in her dark blue robe, and Monty pulled the covers around her, before climbing into bed, and holding her close.

She awoke then, sleepily.

  “How did the dinner go?” she asked softly.

  “Just fine. Everyone wishes you well.” He said quietly, while pressing kisses to her head.

  “Did they like the dessert?” Phoebe asked in a hopeful voice. Monty nearly burst out laughing at that. Here she was, sick as a dog, and all she cared about was whether or not her guests liked the deserts.

  “They said it was divine. I had the servants save you leftovers for another night when you’re feeling up to it.”

She turned, looked up at him, and smiled softly. 

  “How are you feeling?” he asked her. 

  “Alright,” she coughed a little. “Nothing too serious. I told you, I’ve mostly been sleeping.”

  “Being the host while you were sick was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. You make it look so easy,” he complimented her.

She grinned happily. “I am quite good at it, aren’t I?” She giggled, and Monty laughed as well.

Monty pressed a kiss to her temple. “Go back to sleep, you need your rest.”

Phoebe cuddled up into his chest at his request, and eventually fell asleep. Monty fell asleep too,  ever so glad that the dinner was over and that he could be alone with his darling Phoebe to take care of her.

 

 

 


End file.
